Page 17 of Chance's Choice
Absolved.
It’s different to any of the other times with the other Daddies I’ve had spank me over the years. With them, the release had never been as intense, and I’d always held on to just enough of my guilt that it would fester away again. But this time I did as Chance told me to: I let it all out. He forgave me and I accepted my official punishment from the only person whose perspective ever mattered.
With the absolution, though, comes uncertainty. I’ve spent so long fixating and hating myself that I honestly don’t know how to act now that I’ve promised to let it go.
My head is hazy with the release, with the high of feeling free and new. Chance kisses my sweaty temple and, still rubbing my back, eventually asks, “Feel better now?”
I nod, and my voice is raw and scratchy when I answer, “So much better. Thank you.” My breathing hitches on the last two words, but I manage to swallow back a new round of tears.
I swear, I’ve cried more tonight than I have over the last two decades. There’s something about Chance that sends my carefully constructed walls tumbling down effortlessly. Though I usually hate feeling weak and vulnerable, I don’t mind being this way with him. I never want to hide from him again.
I hiss and flinch when his calming hands coast over my ass. I’m not going to be able to sit properly for days. But that thought brings a smile to my lips because Chance did that for me. Chance said he’d be my Daddy, and he gave me exactly what I needed. The lingering pain will be a reminder of that.
Chance makes a sound of commiseration and kisses my temple again. “Okay,” he coos (he fuckingcoos!), “I think someone needs a cool bath and a slathering of lotion before bed, hmm?”
Unconsciously snuggling further into his embrace, I nod. “Mmm.”
His chuckle rumbles through his chest. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you sorted out before we both crash here.”
I whine as he shifts me out of his lap, already missing the warmth and safety of his arms.
He’s unmoved by my complaints, though. “Is the tub in your master bath, or in the other bathroom?”
“Master,” I tell him, trying not to sound too sullen. He takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Show me.”
With a final dejected sigh, I pad across the carpet and to the door on the wall on the left side of my bed. My walk-in wardrobe is actually behind the wall my bed sits on, something Chance notes as we pass the space where the wall ends, leaving a doorway-sized gap. There’s a matching one on the other side of the room, too. I think it adds to the modern, minimalist vibe of the whole place.
Opening the door to the master bathroom, I show Chance through to the generous space. It’s all white subway tiles and chrome accessories. The tub is a thing of beauty – a large, deep, freestanding bath in the middle of the wall between the shower which runs lengthways down the left side of the room and the double vanity running lengthways to our right. The toilet is segregated in its own little room next to the double vanity.
Chance steps up to the tub and fiddles with the faucet until the water pouring through it is to his liking, then he turns to me and gestures me over with a crook of his fingers. I go willingly.
His fingers pluck deftly at the buttons of my dress shirt, first the cuffs and then the row down my chest and belly. Like him, I wasn’t wearing a tie, and I ditched my jacket when we came into the apartment, so the shirt is the only thing he needs to help me out of, but he takes his time with it as if he’s savoring the experience.
It makes me feel special. Even more special than being laid over his lap and spanked just the way I’d needed.
The silence between us is comfortable as he finally slips the material over my shoulders, then tosses it towards the hamper concealed next to the vanity on the end near the bath. His eyes are dark and hungry as they take my naked form in.
“You’re beautiful, Kade. Always have been.”
I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the vanity and cringe. My eyes and nose are puffy and red. There are tear tracks streaming my face, and a shiny trail of drying snot along my left cheek.
“Shit,” I exhale, turning away from the mirror.
“Kaden,” Chance reprimands me. I look back up at him with wide eyes. He frowns. “The only reason I’m not swatting your butt for that is that it’s red raw. And we haven’t gone over the rules yet, but I’m telling you right now, rule number one is that I won’t have you disparaging yourself. Rule number two is no swearing. Big or little, I’m pulling rank as Daddy on that. Understood?”
Dear God, but he’s hot when he’s in Daddy mode. Have I mentioned that already?
Swallowing, I nod my agreement with perhaps a hint too much of eagerness. “Yes, Daddy.”
His expression softens again, and he cups my cheek with a broad, warm palm. He strokes my cheekbone with his thumb and I lean into the affection like a cat. “Good boy,” he murmurs and my heart flutters.
I’ll do anything to keep hearing him say that phrase to me.
When the bath is full enough to Chance’s standards, he holds my hand and helps lower me into the tepid water. I try not to wince as my sore ass protests both the temperature (despite it being relatively cool) and the pressure of the porcelain once I’m seated.
Chance locates a washcloth and shower gel, urging me to relax as he cleans me up. His movements are gentle but confident, and I try not to think too hard about the boys that have had this honor before me. Instead, I close my eyes and think about how lucky I am that this is happening.
